


Collapsible

by LunarAsylum



Series: Lowcountry [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aunt Peggy Carter, Bucky Barnes & Peggy Carter Friendship, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes-centric, Conversations, Gen, Implied Relationships, Insecurity, Memories, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Repressed Memories, Slice of Life, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 11:11:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7932451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunarAsylum/pseuds/LunarAsylum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes was looking for answers, for pieces of himself and who he was. He couldn't go to Steve, the only person he knew could remember for him, but Steve wasn't the only option. </p>
<p>~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t know,” he said quietly, his voice rough from disuse. “I’ve been told I am.” Her features twisted at that statement, a knowing confusion instead of one warped by the mind. </p>
<p>“You’ve been told? You don’t remember?” </p>
<p>He shook his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collapsible

**Author's Note:**

  * For [In_Factorem_Verba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_Factorem_Verba/gifts).



> I've always been curious what Bucky did between Winter Soldier and Civil War. How did he recover his memories? So this happened.

His eyes opened slowly, blinking at the light that peeked through the boarded up windows. He’d only just found solace in abandoned apartments in Brooklyn, for the rare moments where he need reprieve, whether it was in the form of sleep, or shielding from the hustle and bustle of the streets. He’d been here in New York for weeks, figuring that the last place a fugitive would be sought for was right under their very noses. At least, from the government that is.

A part of him was surprised, though the other part was not, that Steve hadn’t come looking, or just hadn’t thought to check home first. At least, he was certain this was the blond’s home. Clearly, he’d spent time here, though the details were still hidden behind walls Hydra had intended to build. He knew that he knew Steve. That was about the extent of it when it came to anything before Hydra. He’d researched. Read up on the history of Captain America and his compatriots. He knew himself as Bucky, but it was just a fact and a face, not a feeling.

There was no soul behind the name, nothing to adhere it to his identity, leaving it floating in front of him like a ghost, and as far as he was concerned, it should probably stay that way. Though from the very insistence up and to death that Steve had displayed during their fight, he was fairly certain the blond wouldn’t accept that as a state of being. His face carried a feeling to it. Imagining him on the backs of his eyelids invoked something that he’d not felt previously. Not that he had felt previously. It was a strange concept on its own, and trying to adapt to it had taken more of a toll that he’d anticipated.

The state that Hydra had been insistent upon leaving him in no longer applied, and was no longer adhered to. He’d taken what he’d been taught and placed it into the world he was now living, using it to get by, but only just. Stealing bits and pieces of food from stores, eating them a few blocks away, and doing this throughout the day to not only keep himself fed, but occupied. He found that being left to his mind alone was a horror in and of itself and that was something he didn’t want to suffer often.

Peace. This was what he was searching for, but the city didn’t bring it. He’d hoped that it would invoke a sense of home, seeing as this was where it was stated that home was. Yet it felt cold, even when the city was alive and buzzing with people. This wasn’t his home. This was an era outside of his mind, and his body, and he could tell. Fact didn’t need to be presented to know he didn’t belong here, but six feet under the earth, possibly more.

However, today would be different. There would be no traversing the city, hopping from grocery store to grocery store, stealing small pieces of fruit and whatever else he could eat from his hand. There was a connection to the past, one outside of Steve that was living, breathing and real. He hoped that it invoked the same sense of being as Steve did. Inhaling deeply, he swiftly pushed himself from the floor, grabbing the bag that had fallen from his lap during his sleep, slinging it over his shoulder. He sauntered down the stairs of the building, letting his eyes close as he paused before the entrance, listening, waiting for the sound to dull before exiting onto the street, not a soul around to see him come from there.

He was a ghost, swift as a breeze, unseen and rarely heard, always there, just on the edge of the skin. No one ever seemed to notice him on the streets, and occasionally it made him question his sense of self. There was a lot of that lately, which he wished the streets cured, wanting to be washed away with the hum of the crowd, moving in the sea of people and following the current, but he couldn’t afford to get lost. Not now. Far too much he didn’t know was at stake.

Though, that fueled the problem. He didn’t know what he supposedly knew, and there wasn’t a thing more frustrating in this world. To be told that he should know himself, only to be greeted with confusion when he didn’t. What was he supposed to do when he was suddenly assaulted not only with a fist, but a name which clearly held weight on the tongue of another, but brushed over him like a cloud; visible, but untouchable. He’d only clouded his sky since then, leaving him with a sense of hopelessness that there was no escape from the shadows. Until now.

He’d moved faster than he’d thought, though he’d not strayed far from his destination to begin with. It had been intentional. He’d wanted to monitor it before going in, not wanting to take the risk of being found all because he’d been hasty and sloppy. He’d not noticed anything unusual or suspecting about the place, and after a solid week of surveillance, he’d decided it was time to infiltrate. Staring up at the front of the building, his eyes scanned it, the murmur of the crowd rustling behind him, before he stepped forward.

He slipped inside with no issue, moving beyond the guards as though he was invisible having passed through a small family. He’d found her before he’d looked for anything else. Fifth floor, with a view, unsurprising for someone of her stature. A part of him wondered what had made her stay here. If it was the discovery of Steve being alive. Apparently, he seemed to be a damn good reason to stay in Brooklyn. He took the stairs instead of the elevator, swiftly climbing the five floors with ease, not even breathless as he treaded down the hall.

His footsteps were silent as ever, and always were unless he forcibly made noise. That was rare, and surprisingly difficult for him, but he knew no normal human being was this quiet. He paused at the lip of the door, staring down at the floor where the sunlight from her window peeked through, as it was often left open for her viewing pleasures. Closing his eyes, he stepped into the room, and to the side, letting himself melt back into the shadows as was his habit.

It allowed him a moment to look over her, take in her withered form, and yet that sense of home Steve instilled in him did not come back. Instead it was disappointment. He’d hoped so much that another human face would fill him just as Steve’s did, but he was still hollow, still the shell of what Hydra had made him. Bracing himself, he prepared to leave, but her voice reached him, freezing him like ice.

“I know you’re there,” she said, her voice strong, despite the weakness of her mind and body. Though, it seemed her mind wasn’t all too weak if she could sense him there. After all, that had been what had drawn Steve to her, he assumed. Looking up, he saw she had turned to face him, but only just. Closing his eyes again, he breathed deep, willing himself forward and towards the seat on the left of her bed, not missing the drag of her eyes over him, the confusion clearly there, but once he was standing before her, refusing to sit, did it seem to click.

“Sergeant Barnes…?” she asked incredulously, and he couldn’t quite read the emotion on the rest of her face. He hadn’t planned on speaking with her, having learned through observation that she was suffering from dementia. The lack of mental stability wouldn’t help his own, and he hoped that just seeing her would be enough. He’d been wrong.

Looking over the creases of her face, the way her skin had lost itself to age was something he’d not been exposed to often. Age was a concept lost on him, just as time had been unless it was a countdown until the mission had to be complete. Now, everything had blurred together, and he was unsure if it was a weekday or the weekend. All he knew was that he was standing before Peggy Carter, withered by age, but strengthened by time. She’d been a force in her own right.

Apparently his lack of an answer wasn’t good enough for her and she stared at him insistently, her gaze strong despite the softness of her features. She cleared her throat, catching his attention again, blinking at her before his brow furrowed, not quite understanding that he was supposed to speak. He gave a half nod after he realized that he was intended to answer, before shifting a half step back, wanting to shake his head.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly, his voice rough from disuse. “I’ve been told I am.” Her features twisted at that statement, a knowing confusion instead of one warped by the mind.

“You’ve been told? You don’t remember?”

He shook his head.

“Not exactly,” he responded, not used to having the will and ability to speak for himself. Freedom was a newfound aspect of life for him, one he still wasn’t sure he understood, but he knew he had it. He intended to hold onto it as it was the only solid fact he had in his life right now.

“I don’t understand,” she said. There was that confusion again, twisting her already ragged features, yet he could still see the beauty she once was. “You fell. From a train, there was no body.” Contempt and bitter amusement twisted his features. He remembered the fall. At least, seeing the train leaving him behind, before it all went black. Next thing he was aware, he was being dragged away, a bloody trail left behind, a few men following, kicking at the snow as if to cover it up. Clearly, they managed.

“You never thought it was odd to discover no body?” he asked, hardly keeping that bitterness from his voice, but it wasn’t directed at her. It was that he had been found by the wrong people.

“We thought it’d been washed away by the ravine.”

Stated more like a fact than a belief, it was what had clearly become his legacy. ‘The only commando to give his life in service’. That bitterness rose up, leaving an acrid flavor on his tongue until he’d realized it was, in fact, blood. Swallowing, he looked down, his mind and heart racing. This was not what he had wanted. He didn’t want to be reminded of the bad, of the way he’d been left behind for Hydra to pick up the pieces and replace the lost ones with new things. To become a play toy.

“Obviously not,” he stated, his body tense, clearly fighting the urge to run. The fight or flight sense had been all but destroyed within him, a trait Hydra thought he was better without. Now, though, it seemed to run rampant through him, as if he could feel the freezing fire of the snow he’d fallen to die in. Deafening, much like the silence that was being held now. He was tempted to leave, as obviously this would be a discussion of his assumed death, which had been nothing short of a lie.

“Steve,” she said abruptly, and her brow was furrowed, lips trembling in what he would assume have looked like a pout on her when she was younger. “Does he know? Have you been to see Steve?”

That name struck him like stone, dropping a weight in the pit of his stomach unlike anything he could remember feeling. Had he seen Steve? That was a loaded question that he almost wanted to laugh at. ‘See Steve’ was an understatement to the extreme. If she simply wanted to know if Steve knew, he could say yes unequivocally, but if he’d gone to see him? There was that bitterness again, but it still wasn’t directed at her. She just riled it up, letting it scream at him, dancing about flamboyantly in his face to taunt him.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. That technically wasn’t a lie. In this state of mind, in this wanting to remember, he hadn’t seen Steve. He’d avoided everything he knew, because of his direct relation to the government and the danger that imposed. Her disappointment was visible on her face and she sighed, her chest sinking beneath her hands, giving her the frame of death.

“He was devastated after you fell,” she said quietly, her eyes half lidded as she seemed to recall the memory, something as difficult for her as it was for him. He could only imagine this memory of hers, his eyes raking over her body and the shape it maintained beneath the blanket. Death had surrounded him for years, had been his living and his mission, and yet this unnerved him. The natural way in which the body withered away, how time wore people down.

For years, he had been time, abrupt and cruel, taking many before their natural ending, raking them in with the stolen scythe of death. Hydra had played god, and he had been their weapon, their creation meant to carve away at humanity, to chisel them into submission, just as they had done to him. It was only now that he was realizing there was not a soul in this world he could share that with, and the isolation was suffocating. Even now, being here with her, there was no solace to be found. He was still alone.

“I’d never seen him so angry, so bitter as he’d been that evening,” she said, a curl to her lips, betraying the sadness in her voice. “It made him reckless, you know, losing you. I don’t think he’s ever dealt with loss well.”

There was an understanding that lingered in her eyes at that statement, and he could tell that she knew she’d be his next loss, and that she hoped it didn’t invoke the same insatiable need the blond seemed to carry for bad decisions. He’d witnessed first hand just how reckless Steve really was, and that clearly it was not something brought on by the death of those he cared for, but something fueled by it. He wanted to say something, to be able to reminisce with her, but he felt as empty as when he’d come in.

“Then again,” she started, chuckling lightly, looking up at the ceiling before back to him, her eyes brighter than he’d seen them. “He was even more so when he went to rescue you and the majority of the 107th from Hydra.”

That struck a chord when him, inhaling deeply as he froze, looking over her with what he was sure looked like pure fear. He’d been in Hydra’s clutches before? A shiver traveled the length of his spine, causing him to tense up to avoid succumbing to it. It explained why he’d survived the fall then, if he had been captured and experimented on before. Everything that had happened to him had seemed random, as if he’d miraculously been found and played with to see if he’d survive, but clearly they’d already known he’d survive.

He looked away, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, keeping his breath slow and even, not wanting to give way to the mounting panic in his chest. Then she was speaking again and all of that broke.

“The fact you’d all walked for miles from that base, it was simply amazing. He’d proved so many people wrong that day. It wasn’t too long after that he’d formed the Commandos, and I don’t think he’d have done so without you. I think he went to that base wanting to die, thinking you were dead. He’s told me otherwise, but…”

She trailed off, seeming to go distant and he sincerely hoped that he would not have to deal with a memory lapse. Not from someone else, when his own memory was hollow and barren, like the frozen tundra in which he’d been raised from. He heard her sigh, deliberate and slow, before she breathed in and was back to her story.

“I think what led to him being here is exactly that. His mission with Hydra was entirely a suicide mission in your name, Sergeant.”

“I’m no sergeant, anymore,” he said, lips quirking briefly before he shook his head and looked away. “I’m not even sure I’m the James Barnes the Smithsonian says I am.”

“None of us are the same as we once were,” she said, showing off the wisdom of her years. It irritated him. He was none wiser than the day he fell from the train, just ten times more lethal. Yet he stood here, nearly equal her age and didn’t look a day over thirty. He shifted on his feet, not that he needed to move, but because discomfort ached in his bones. “The traumas of war and capture are irreparable. To think you could be the same man as before is but a dream.”

“I’d have to have those first,” he said in a bitter amusement, shaking his head and looking away from her. “It’s not just trauma.”

It was far more than that. He’d realized that there was something else in his mind. Someone not him. Maybe that would sound ridiculous to other people, but he knew what was happening in his head, or the lack of what was happening in his head. Hydra had done more than conditioned him, turning him into one of the best weapons they could ask for. They’d taken his brain and cleared it of everything he was and could’ve been, leaving behind a shell for them to stuff whatever they wanted in. They had unmade him.

“No, I imagine not,” she said, and her eyes seemed to glean more than just what he said, as there was a knowingness in her gaze, a sympathy lingering in the wavering vision. There was a kindness in her eyes, one that had likely come from her age and her family, because he had the distinct feeling she wasn’t quite so kind before, not with the piercing gaze and intensity she still had in her frail form. “You know, Sergeant Barnes, he loved you.”

He wanted to respond, to say that he didn’t know, because well, he didn’t. There were no memories, no thoughts or familiar sensations of having been loved in any sense of the word from Steve, but that wasn’t where his mind went. He heard footsteps nearing, knowing that no matter who it was, if they came to her room, security would be called. Taking a step back he looked at her, noticing that her gaze had fallen to the ceiling. Just as easily as he’d come, he was out of the window, easily disappearing into the crowds, only just glancing back at the building.

Inside, a young blonde came into the room, knocking lightly at the doorframe, a small smile on her face.

“Aunt Peggy?” she chimed, stepping into the room, catching her attention and earning a wide smile.

“Oh, Sharon, you’re just in time. Sergeant Barnes, this is my neice, Sh-...” she trailed off, turning to the side to see the space he’d occupied empty, her brow furrowing and wondering if she’d imagined it all. Little did she know a man walked the streets with regret, a first for him as he ambled through the crowds, heading to the nearest grocery store to resume his routine of eating, unaware of the changes he’d just caused, missing the confused look on Sharon Carter’s face as she politely stated there was no one there.

That night he fell asleep the same way he woke, the light of the street lamps peering through the damaged boards that attempted to cover open windows. Bottles and rocks littered the floors, clearly from kids playing games of who could break through the windows first. He nestled up into the corner, hands clutching onto the bag, no longer empty, as it carried inside a small journal he had lifted today. Inside, the date had been scrawled with a stolen pen, noting that he had met and spoken with Peggy Carter, unplanned, but it had done more than he had anticipated. As sleep overtook him, memories surged forward in the form of dreams.


End file.
